Here's To You
by Sunshinecackle
Summary: Pete couldn't believe his luck. He also couldn't tell whether it was good luck, or bad.


**Title:** Here's To You  
 **Author:** Donnie  
 **Fandom:** South Park  
 **Setting:** The Bar, Pete's Apartment  
 **Pairing:** Stan Marsh/Pete Thelman  
 **Characters:** Stan Marsh, Pete Thelman  
 **Genre:** Romance/Humor  
 **Rating:** T  
 **Chapters:** 1/1  
 **Word Count:** 1406  
 **Type of Work:** One-Shot  
 **Status:** Complete  
 **Warnings:** Gay, Slash, Yaoi, Fluff, Alcoholism  
 **Disclaimer:** I don't own anything.  
 **Summary:** Pete couldn't believe his luck. He also couldn't tell whether it was good luck, or bad.

 **AN:** I finally finished a Stan/Pete fic, and I really needed to get it posted. I'm so happy to have finally gotten some things written on paper, and to see this all come to fruition is just. Super nice? I'm happy right now. I think. I hope you guys enjoy!

 **Here's To You** ****

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Stan was on his fifth beer when Pete stepped into the brewery. He knocked the rest back and held his hand up to signal for the other, though his eyes had wandered. The pop of fire against a black abyss drew him in more than usual. When Pete's eyes caught him, he was sure he lost the ability to breathe.

"...Stan." Pete's attempt at apathy came off almost too desperate to be real. He wanted a familiar face, someone he knew and could sit with while he drank.

"Hey, Petey…" Stan leaned in too close to be polite, a drunken grin splitting his face in half.

"Ugh, you smell like you imbibed the entire brewery." Pete's nose crinkled and Stan's heart skipped a beat.

"You- You smell good." Like stale smoke, cloves and black coffee. He must have just come from Tweak Bros., because the rich smell of the special blend was all over him like a physical presence.

"Thank you." Pete didn't often get compliments, but he didn't want to muck this up with a fight. "What are you doing here?"

"Drinking." Stan supplied lazily, taking a sip from the beer that had startled him with its sudden appearance.

"Well, that much is obvious." Pete replied, lifting one of Stan's hands and dropping it back against the bar like a boneless fish. "I meant, 'why'?"

"Oh, uh… Drinking my feelings." The taller man finally murmured, having enough decency to look ashamed.

"And what feelings are those?" Pete asked, ordering a Raven cocktail on the sly. Stan recognized his goth name from elementary school and his grin returned. Lifting his own limp arm with more effort than usual, he paused before dropping his hand into Pete's lap. Suddenly, he lurched forward and planted a sloppy, open-mouthed kiss on his lips. Whatever he'd been about to say, the whole spiel about getting denied from veterinary school, it was gone in the blink of an eye.

Shocked, Pete's hand gripped the bar, his lips unmoved even as Stan tried to coax him into it. When he finally pulled back, he stared into Pete's wide brown eyes, a pout on his lips.

"You taste good, too." Stan informed, trying to smile. The clink of the martini glass on the bar drew Pete back to the present and he took no time at all to down the jet black drink.

"You're drunk, I'll drive you home." Pete decided, hopping off of the stool with more difficulty than he'd taken to get on it. His cheeks burned beneath his makeup, and he could still feel the fireworks in his veins that kiss had jumpstarted.

"Your home?" Stan sounded hopeful as he greedily sucked down the rest of his beer and followed Pete to his car. He couldn't remember Pete buckling him in, or helping push it over a hill before giving chase. But he did remember hopping into the old, white Grand Am and leaning over to kiss him. Pete pushed at his face, too busy focusing on the road, but he seemed pretty happy with it, this time. He smiled, at least, and Stan's heart fluttered.

"You're beautiful."

"And you're drunk."

"I love you, man."

Pete's head turned at that, and he absently flipped his hair out of his eyes.

"Stan… Shut up." Pete hated how warm and embarrassed he felt. Here he was, alone with his 'guilty pleasure' crush, Stan all over him, and he was _hesitating._ Stan was drunk. Pete wasn't exactly sober, either, and he was trying to _drive_. That's what he told himself, his only reasoning he could cling to as to why he wasn't taking advantage of this.

"But I doooo~" Stan singsonged, "Call me Raven again. I miss that."

"...Okay. _Raven_ , shut up." That placated Stan enough to sit back in his seat, his hand falling to rest on Pete's thigh. Reaching down, Pete tugged his hand up instead, holding it against the steering wheel. Finally, he was given a minute of silence, but it lasted about as long as Stan's attention span.

"Do you love me, too?"

"I-" Pete didn't quite know what to say to that. He was most definitely _attracted_ to Stan, but he didn't think he was capable of love. "Sure."

"That's a yes, huh?" Stan was grinning again, wide and bright as the sun, as they pulled into City Apartments.

"Your house! Slumber party?" Stan almost giggled and Pete frowned heavily.

"Slumber, yes. Party? No." He leaned over and unbuckled Stan, getting out and jogging around the back of his car to get Stan. On unsteady legs, Stan managed to lean heavily on Pete to get up to the second floor, corner apartment. Inside, he bypassed the recliner almost in the doorway of the studio apartment and crashed into Pete's bed, jacket, shoes and all.

"Maybe I _am_ tired." Stan murmured, his voice muffled by the mattress he had it buried in. With some coaxing (and a firm smack on the ass), Pete managed to get him to the head of the bed, out of his jacket, shoes and jeans, and tucked in. "What about you?" He slurred sleepily, eyelids too heavy to see Pete shake his head.

"I need a cigarette." This was stressful, "And then I'll turn in." He had every intention of sleeping in his little green recliner, but Stan had other ideas.

"With me?"

"...Sure." That was a 'yes' as far as Stan was concerned, so, placated with a kiss on his forehead, Stan left Pete to his habit with a loud snore.

Sitting at his meager dining table by the door, Pete scrubbed his face with his hands. What was he going to do, now? Lighting up a cigarette and pushing his hair back, he heaved a heavy, smoke-filled sigh. Stan slept like the dead while Pete puttered around his tiny apartment, getting ready for bed. Feeding his mouse, he sighed, petting its little head.

"It's amazing what feelings will make you do, Oleander." He told the little brown field mouse, "I feel like an idiot, now. Never fall in love."

Either way, he said his goodnights, cranked the heat to eighty, and grabbed his heaviest knit blanket. Sitting in the recliner, he knocked it back and settled in, closing his eyes. It took him longer than usual to get comfortable, but he finally managed to doze sometime after midnight.

-

When he woke, it was like a bear pulled from hibernation. Stan found himself soaked with sweat, still in his clothes, and in an unfamiliar bed. Other than his spot, it was mostly chilled; his train of thought derailed when he heard someone groan, and his eyes fell on the shape of the recliner in the dark. Slowly getting up, he used the streetlight streaming through the blinds to navigate the small apartment. He _wanted_ to see who had brought him home, but his bladder warned him that he needed to take a leak, first. Preferably in a toilet.

It took three unsuccessful attempts to find the bathroom, but he finally managed to get inside with the light on. Once he had finished his business and his hands were washed, he dried them and carefully toed back into the main room. His eyes needed time to adjust to the eerie, orange tinted darkness of the room, but if anyone asked, he navigated his way back to the chair with ease. If his toes were bruised, that was nobody's business but his own.

Getting to the chair was easy enough once he'd almost crawled on top of it, and when he did, he was greeted by the face of an angel. Pete was lit up by the orange light filtering in, and Stan felt his heart sink and flutter at the same time. What had he said to kick the goth out of his own bed?

This wouldn't stand.

Bending at the waist, he picked up the smaller man and cradled the slumbering goth against his chest. Carrying him to the bed, he laid down on his side and drew Pete in against him, nice and close. Wrapping them up in the five hundred blankets on Pete's bed, Stan yawned once, wide enough that his jaw popped and his brain felt fuzzy. It took no time at all before he was asleep again, holding Pete's still body through the rest of the night.

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 **AN:** Wow, so that was the first of my Stan/Pete fics that I've ever finished. I'm actually proud of it, to get it done and I feel pretty decent about how it came out. I hope you guys liked it, too!

Prompt: Imbibe


End file.
